As Darkness Falls

As darkness falls, so does his heart
For days of sweetness yet to come;
He reaches, in his mind, for part
Of something greater, as the crickets hum

The sun goes down, so do his thoughts,
To lives he’s never led at all.
And feeling still tied up in knots,
He sees the clouds roll up, the summer squall

The touch that he imagines there
Is such that any man might crave;
The storm, the crickets, serve to share
This knowledge:
He is lost
Within
His cave

Expectations, Daily

It’s what we take for granted
That will do us in the end;
For expectations daily
Choke the life of women, men

That thing that we unthinkingly
Assume we’ll have fore’er
That one day leaves us suddenly
Exposed, unarmed and bare

We recognize bad fortune,
Others’ luck we dwell upon:
But take good luck as given
Up until the day
It’s gone

Depressed

At times, she barely knows herself,
The image in the mirror:
Whatever all she’s thought to dream
Grows anything but clearer.

Her life is chaos: interweave,
A web, a maze, a lattice,
And if not for irrelevance,
She’d have no other status.

So many think her fortunate:
A star in this big circus —
But she knows emptiness, the kind
That comes when hope

Deserts us

On The Heights

Oh, no. There’s no depression anymore.
All that despair, it’s really so jejune —
I have a lot to do, and I’m content.
There’s work enough for even a buffoon
To rise before the sun, and tame the moon.
Don’t look into my eyes, there’s nothing there;
There’s no depression anymore — I swear.

Oh, yes. I still hear voices, that’s just me.
But what I never talk about’s not real —
I am contented with my lot in life,
What isn’t mine to ever have, or feel,
Is just, you know, a thing, a minor deal.
A mortal starts whatever, then it ends;
I still hear voices, but — they say they’re friends.

I dreamed I saw a ribbon by the sea;
A highway full of peaceful, distant lights —
It’s rare I dream these days, or even sleep.
I’ve lost, I think, my battle with the nights;
But for that moment, I was on the heights.
I know that dreams are trivial. I do.
But somehow, what’s not real can still be true.

I wake to darkness, check my phone for time,
And lumber up, where no one sees or knows —
I cast a fishing line out on the ‘net,
But all is silent, as the river flows.
And day by day, a nameless something grows
Outside this room, in people’s thoughtless taunt:
That I have everything a soul could want.

But all of that is silliness. I move
Into the gears that grind throughout my day,
And show up at the place they pay me to,
And serve my minor truths up on a tray.
I stop to throw some words down, just for play:
They echo in my head, these little posts —
And all of it is silliness,
And ghosts

for once there was

a darkness fell upon the room;
the sound of crickets all around —
the sweat that poured into his eyes
he wiped away, amid the gloom

he heard the distant rumble small
of trucks upon the highway near;
and checked the time – again, again –
to see if it had moved at all

for once there was a pyramid
of cans and bottles on a shelf;
for once there was another man,
a different guy, another self

who looked a lot like younger me;
but that could not have been, somehow —
for i had nothing, nothing then:
and i have all the answers
now

Made of Life

The ache that is we couldn’t know
Our eyes could not foresee
It’s everywhere we look it’s part
Of our humanity

Anxiety and panic
Futility and strife
For life is made of failure
And we are made of life

We reach out to the lonely ones
We cast our vision wide
As others too reach out to us
Though left or cast aside

Cacophony and discord
The gun the noose the knife
For life is made of sorrow
And we are made of life

The heartbeat borne in stillness
The pleasure dead and gone
The memory of wonder
That all this still goes on

In secrecy or public
And withal we are rife
The journey each alike is on

What must be made

Of life